Not What I Expected
by Skalidra
Summary: An unlucky blow to the head takes Nightwing out of a fight, and when he wakes up in the Cave Jason's the only one there. Teasing turns to more serious questions, and then to a discovery neither of them was expecting. - Jason/Dick. Prompt Fill. Grew more chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Alright, so this is pretty short. It's a pretty basic Dick/Jason discovery snapshot, from a prompt by the Tumblr user 'Fiendishpersona'. - Jason/Dick, "I think we need to talk." - Decided to have some fun and flip things around. XD

No warnings. Go, have fun, enjoy. XD (I'll be posting a second thing too, since this came to a close faster than than I thought it was going to.)

* * *

Usually, when the last thing you can remember is getting smacked in the head, waking is not a fun experience. This is no different, of course.

My skull aches, and even though I'm on something soft and pretty comfortable, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I pry my eyes open; combat reflexes are hard to shake, and insist that if I can't immediately hear anyone around me, I should get my eyes open and figure out where I am. It's not that hard, which raises my hope that the ache in my skull isn't actually that serious, and the sight that meets my gaze is comfortingly familiar. Dark rock, _way_ above me. I'm in the Cave.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty," says a slightly mocking voice, as what I'm pretty sure is the toe of a boot digs into my waist. I drag my gaze down, following the lines of the legs propped up on the medical cot next to me up to the chair the offender is sitting in. Jason flashes me a grin, poking me with the toe of his boot again. "Eyesight focusing alright? Nothing fuzzy or _really_ hurting?"

I raise my hand and shove his legs off the cot — he snorts — before lifting my fingers to my own skull. "Ow," I comment, as I find the sore point a little ways back from my left temple. "No, I'm good. What am I doing in the Cave? I wasn't out for that long, was I?"

Jason gets up from the chair, ignoring my obvious message and sitting down in the spot next to my hip that I just shoved his legs off of. "Nah. B sent me back with you while the rest of the gang is finishing things off. No communication yet, and no distress calls, so I suppose they're fine." He rolls his eyes, one gloved hand nudging the same point in my waist that his boot was. "I think B was just getting pissy about me shooting people, personally. You would've been just fine if we left you in the car."

"Knock that off," I snap, without heat. I rub my hand over my eyes — my mask is off, guess that makes sense for a head injury — and blink a few times to reorder the night in my head. "Did I black out?"

Jason snorts again, loud enough to make me pull my hand off of my eyes and look down at him. He's grinning at me, blue-green eyes narrowed in a way I _know_ means that I'm not going to like whatever he's about to say. "Yeah, you passed out. _Right_ into my arms, too." I groan, raising my leg and shoving at his side with my knee, trying to force him off the cot and away from me. He does stand, but I know it's only because he's humoring me. "I mean, I _knew_ you were kind of the king of dramatic sprawling, but _really_ , Dick? _Right_ in my arms?" His tone is teasing as he grins, shoulders rolling in a shrug and his left hand braced on his hip. "If you wanted my attention that badly you could have just asked."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and _thank you_ brain this is _not_ the time for another reminder that Jason is tall, and good looking, and so _confident_ it's unbelievable. Also really not the time to remember that his voice is deep and rolling, or the careful precision of his hands when he's stitching up a wound, or how _soft_ he can be when one of us really _is_ hurt. It ties my tongue in a knot and raises swirls in my stomach that I'd usually put down to the head wound, but right now I'm pretty sure is something very, _very_ different.

Jason's grin slips, and I open my mouth to speak and say _something_ , but he beats me to it. "When I make jokes like that," he starts quietly, studying me. "Is that flush embarrassment, or is it because I'm hitting a little too close to the mark?"

My tongue fails me again, _just_ when I need it. I stare at Jason, with a dozen different thoughts battling for control of my head and all of the emotions there to serve as backup. The fingers of the hand I don't have raised up above my head clench down into the sheets, and Jason's gaze flicks that direction for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. I need to speak, I need to say _something_. Yes, or no, or just maybe change the subject because there's no way Jason's actually meant any of that seriously, right? He even _said_ jokes.

"Jason—"

"No," he shakes his head, freeing me from his gaze for a second as his hand rises in the universal 'stop' motion. He's silent for a second, and then meets my gaze again. "Alright, here's what I'm going to do." Walk out? Not talk to the brother that's been looking at him _anything_ but innocently for way too long? "I'm going to lean down, and I'm going to kiss you." _What?_ "And then I'm going to straighten back up, and pretend like it never happened. If I'm misreading this, fuck it. It's a weird moment and we can just ignore it. If I'm _not_ …" He stares for a moment, then raises one shoulder in a shrug. "Then I guess it's your move."

Jason bends down, his left arm bracing on the bed beside my head, and there's almost no hesitation in the way the fingers of his right hand trace my jaw and tilt my jaw up to a better angle. His lips are soft, and the way he kisses isn't with the aggression and leashed violence that I expected, and _fantasized_ about. It's carefully precise, like how he strips apart a firearm. Efficient, he _knows_ what he's doing, but with respect because what he's touching is a weapon.

I have to smother a laugh at the idea that Jason is kissing me with the same respect as he uses when he handles a gun.

God, Jason is _kissing_ me.

He pulls back a little bit, a soft breath leaving him, and I flick my eyes open. He's close, hovering just a little bit above me. "Alright," he breathes, and pulls away from me.

I'm moving before I realize what I'm doing. My hand snaps up, grabbing hold of the first thing I touch, which happens to be his hair, and then I pull him down. Then, suddenly, Jason's knees are hitting the metal floor and his throat is arching back because I'm pulling _hard_ , and he's making a noise that it takes me a second to realize is one of the most guttural groans I've ever heard in my _life_. His right hand clenches down on my arm, but before I can take it as the demand to let go that I'm _sure_ it is, it gentles and his moment of stiffness melts away.

I stare in shock and _hunger_ as he eases, leaning into the arch of his throat as his hand strokes down over the black and blue of the suit still covering my arm. Like he's giving me permission without saying even a word. My gaze _snaps_ to his throat as he swallows, and I follow the bob of his Adam's apple up and then down again. Still, he doesn't pull against my hold, and he doesn't seem to mind that I'm keeping his head back and his neck arched. _Bared_ , a darker part of my mind says, and the part of my mind that's imagined Jason a thousand different ways, but not like _this_ , backs that thought up.

I ignore the ache in my skull as I push up on my other arm — there's no nausea or dizziness to go with it, so I can deal — and then reach for him as soon as I'm sitting up. I trace my fingers down the front of his throat, and my whole mind blanks out for a second as he _shudders_. His eyes are closed, left arm loose by his side and the right only keeping the faintest pressure on the bicep of the arm with my fingers in his hair. Words come to mind and die on my tongue, and in the absence of anything to say I lean in and kiss him. His hand squeezes down on my arm for a second, and then he meets me. _There's_ all the passion his kiss was missing earlier. There's still respect there, still _precision_ , but mostly it's _hunger_.

To see what will happen, I tighten my fingers in his hair and _pull_.

He gives another shudder, and a quiet, hitched moan that drives a tremble down my spine. " _Fuck_ ," he murmurs between us. "Dick, if this is some kind of testing thing and you're not serious you need to stop _right_ now."

I pull back a little bit, easing my grip and letting him raise his head up enough to flick his eyes open and meet mine. The look in them almost makes me lose my words again; hunger, want, and _wariness_. "If it's not?" I ask, and he takes in a small, sharp breath.

"Still your move." His voice is a deep, rough thing, darkened but also breathier. "I think we need to talk. Probably before anything else happens, or before the rest of the family gets back."

Like his words are some kind of a summons, the distinct ting of the sensor alarm on the vehicle entrance to the Cave rings through the air, and we both jerk. But I don't let go, and he doesn't pull away. It'll be a few minutes, there's a bit of time, I can—

"Fuck, B's going to _kill_ me," Jason mutters. "Corrupting the golden boy; think that comes before or after shooting people?"

"I don't think B needs to know anything about this unless we want him to," I counter, and his gaze rises back up to meet mine. I touch the front of his throat with my free hand, and get hooked for a second at the hitch of his breath that I can hear and almost _feel_. "I didn't picture you as a sub." Which is probably a really terrible thing to say, but it's out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Didn't picture you as a dom," he answers, voice a rough growl. "It's dom, right? You're not just a top? 'Cause tops don't usually keep a hold like this or use 'sub' as a term when they're talking ab—"

"Hush." He goes silent _instantly_ , which shocks pretty much all of me, and then shudders and draws in a deeper breath. His jaw works like he wants to say something, but he stays quiet and still, holding my gaze. "You're right, we need to talk. Later, out of the Cave and away from the rest of them. We can negotiate then, get all this sorted out and decide what we want to do with it. That sound good?"

"Sounds _great_. Your place, or mine?"

I can hear the faint roar of the Batmobile, and instead of answering I push his head down and lean in. I shove his jacket away from the back of his neck, and pull him up far enough that I can get my mouth against his skin. He gives a rumbling groan, fingers rhythmically clenching on my arm as I use my remaining seconds to drag a mark to the surface of his skin, as low down as I can get it before his armor starts, and over one of the bumps of his spine.

" _Fuck_ ," Jason says in the middle of a second groan, " _Dick_." I let go of his hair, reaching back and digging down into my suit to find one of my small, adhesive trackers. I curl my fingers around it, reaching back up and replacing my mouth with the tracker as I pull away. His head snaps up, eyes narrowed and disbelieving. "I— Did you just—?"

He lets go of my arm and reaches back, fingers exploring the small, jagged black tracker stuck to the back of his neck. He can't see it, but I know and so does he that it's pulsing a soft blue light in the center of it.

"Pick somewhere," I tell him, as he gives an amused but still kind of disbelieving snort. "I'll be there when I can." The roar of the engine is louder, echoing off the Cave's walls, but I pull him down by the grip I have at the back of his jacket when he starts to rise. "Jason," _now_ he's really paying attention, "I don't do casual."

It's an admission I probably shouldn't have made, if the startled widening of his eyes is anything to judge by, but he swallows and nods after a moment. "I don't play with people I don't trust," is what he comes back with. "And nothing with you could ever be casual, Dick, even if it's not official." Not totally what I meant, but then the engine cuts out and he spits out, " _Fuck_ ," and jerks up and away. "I need my helmet or B's gonna see _everything_."

He heads for it, and I lean back down and settle myself on the cot. I raise my right arm, hooking it back behind my head to wait for the inevitable descent of family. Jason reclaims his seat, helmet sealing into place, and he tugs his jacket all the way back up and forcibly relaxes back, like nothing ever happened.

Except now I know that all those ideas I had about a dominant, aggressive Jason weren't right, and they're starting to get replaced with ideas about a pliant one instead. One that I can wrap around my fingers, pull to his knees, and tell to _stay there_ , and he will. Oh, we're going to need to have a talk about what he's into.

A _long_ talk.


	2. Chapter 2

So, there was never supposed to be a second chapter of this. It was supposed to stay that small snapshot, and just leave the rest unexplored, but, well... My head very rarely lets go of an idea once its started. Also, I really wanted to write a kink negotiation scene, because way too often that part of a BDSM relationship is skipped over or just never done, and it's a emvery important part/em. Seriously, never ever get into a kink relationship without negotiating said kinks, boundaries, limits, safe words, etc. Not ever.

 **Warnings** for this chapter are: Non-graphic past Rape/Non-Con, past sexual abuse, and past child (physical) abuse.

* * *

When Jason leaves the Cave it takes everything in me not to follow him. Only Bruce's keen gaze keeps me in my seat, listening to the debrief of what happened after I left. The annoyed impatience of Damian, and the steady but distracted attention of Tim, plays a part in it too. Jason not sticking around is normal, but me bailing out before everyone else is a lot less usual.

The two of us leaving at the same time is pretty much unheard of, and I am _trying_ not to clue anyone into what might happen between Jason and me.

On top of that, Bruce and Alfred insist on checking me over, just in case, which feels like an enormous waste of time. Logically I know it isn't — a hit strong enough to knock someone unconscious usually does some damage as well — but the thought of Jason waiting somewhere for me makes every second I have to stay at the Cave feel like a waste. Someone else, probably Tim, can give me a basic rundown of the outcome of the fight later, and I'm almost positive that it was just an unlucky angle that knocked me out. No damage done, thanks to them getting me off the battlefield.

I don't say any of that though. Instead, I try to stay interested, focused, and tuned into the comments of my brothers. I try _not_ to think about the memory of Jason's arched throat, or the _groan_ that came out of him when I tugged at his hair, or the low rumble of his voice. Mostly, I try not to think about the small tracker planted against the back of his neck, above his spine and blinking a soft blue light. _My_ color, and I have to try _really_ hard to get that thought out of my head because the idea that I've tagged Jason, that he's _marked_ with my symbol, pretty much derails my mind.

Tim is the next to leave, citing a return to the Teen Titans as his excuse and promising to have a report back to Bruce by tomorrow on their status. Damian is the third, sticking around only long enough for my check over to come back with a clean bill of health before he scoffs and stalks up towards the manor. That, I allow to curl my mouth in a bit more of a heartfelt smile. My youngest brother might be standoffish and arrogant at times, but the fact that he stayed long enough to hear Bruce's reassurance that I'm alright means he was worried. I know that.

After all, Damian was my Robin for a while. I was his Batman. Whatever else changes, that fact will always mean we have a connection. Even Bruce and Jason are capable of working together seamlessly, of clicking into a style that's theirs and theirs alone. The connection between a Batman and his Robin always lingers, just like the connection between a Robin and their Batgirl.

I'll always care for Barbara, and I'll always love her. Even if she couldn't be everything I need in a relationship, and I couldn't be just what she wanted. We had a good run of it, and I'll always be there when she needs me.

Bruce sticks around for a few more minutes, as I strip out of my suit and get into more casual clothes. Then he finally, if silently, gives his permission for me to leave by heading for the chair in front of his computer and settling into it. The files for a few recent cases open on the screen, and I tuck my suit and weapons away into a bag as I roll my eyes.

"Get some sleep, alright?" I call across the Cave, even though I know that he's not going to listen to me. Alfred is really the only one who can bully Bruce into sleeping without another family member as backup. Doesn't mean I can't just throw out a reminder and hope that maybe it sticks in his subconscious.

True to form, he flicks one hand in acknowledgement but doesn't verbally answer, and I sling the bag over my back and head for my bike instead of trying to fight him. I've got other business waiting for me. At the least a long conversation, but with luck, and if we agree, then it might be a hell of a lot more waiting for me at…

I check the tracker info as I disable the lock on my bike and then the kickstand, carefully balancing it one-handed. One of my safe houses, that's where the tracker says he is. Not my most commonly used one, the one I hesitantly call home, but it's definitely pretty high up there in the list of ones I use more often. It's still in Gotham at least, not all the way in Bludhaven.

I start the bike and take off, pulling out of the Cave with practiced ease and down the long tunnel to the road outside. The wind feels good against my skin, and it's still fairly early by our standards. Dark, night's already hit, but there's a good moon out tonight and we haven't even hit ten yet. It's early; Damian and Bruce will probably go out again sometime tonight, if there's any hint of anything going on. Tim's headed back to the Titans, but he might take it slow and run a patrol on the way; god knows no one expects him back this early.

Then again, if I had a Kryptonian boyfriend waiting for me to get home I might skip patrol too. I guess, in a way, that's exactly what I'm doing. I could run a patrol, it's not like Alfred's banned me from working for the night, but instead I'm heading straight back to my safe house and Jason. Tim just happens to have what I'd guess is a promise that if he gets back early enough, he can spend some time with Kon. On the other hand, whatever I might do with Jason depends entirely on what happens in our conversation.

If our kinks don't match up, or there's something else standing in the way, this could end before it even gets started. Of course, I'd never push Jason to take anything he didn't want, and I doubt he'd push me either. He _seemed_ susceptible to the idea of being mine, but how people deal with the idea of things is often a lot different than how they react to the thing itself. A lot of people might _think_ the idea of getting held down is hot, but not all of them actually enjoy it. Fantasy and reality are two separate things.

I drive a little bit faster, pulling onto the main roads of Gotham and down off of the high, empty roads that lead to the manors up in the hills.

It's not like I have any frame of reference for Jason's kinks, not apart from that brief slice that I got earlier. I've never talked to anyone who's slept with him, or played with him, and I haven't heard any rumors. Jason sticks to himself; he doesn't talk about his personal life with any of us. Obviously, whoever he might have played with before knows how to keep their mouth shut. Because he _did_ say that he didn't play with people he didn't trust, which implies that he's had partners before.

That sparks my curiosity, but I push it to the back of my mind to deal with later. There's no way to know who Jason's been with without either asking him or doing some serious digging, so I'm not going to waste time thinking about it. Besides, I'm nearly at my safe house.

That brings a sharp fire of anticipation low in my gut, and makes me think about Jason again for a few long moments. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, the light touch of his hand to my arm, the way he _shuddered_. Even if I find out we don't like the same things, I know Jason is going to feature in my fantasies for a long time. This just adds a whole new list of situations my mind can come up with that I could have Jason in. Tied up, on his knees, on his back, or really just any way at _all_ that he could submit to me. Fantasy; still different than reality.

I pull into the built-in garage beneath the apartment building, taking a moment to remember if this is one of the ones with nosy neighbors or not. With relief, I remember that it isn't, and on top of that, I remember that the walls in this building were built thick, for richer clients. Noise has to be pretty loud to get through even a little bit. That means that if we're compatible, and we end up playing tonight, I don't have to be careful about it. That's good.

I don't think I've ever climbed the stairs faster than I do now, deciding to skip the elevator altogether because I'm only on the fourth floor. With my luck, the elevator will be all the way at the top, and I'll have to wait for it to come down first. Better to just skip the chance.

I get to my door, and of _course_ I fumble the keys a little bit but I manage to get it open without too much hassle. Then I take in a deep breath, steady myself, and walk in.

Jason's immediately apparent, and his blue-green eyes are already focused on me by the time I'm inside and can see him. He's leaning against the arm of my couch, facing the door, with his arms crossed over his chest. His jacket is slung over the back of the couch, helmet on the ground beside it, but he's still dressed up in his armor, and with his weapons. The immediate feeling I get off of him is defensive, but as I close the door he straightens up a little, and lets his arms come down to his sides.

He doesn't say anything as I drop my bag off to the side, and then move closer to him. He tenses a little bit, and I stop where I am, roughly four feet away. Comfortably close, but he clearly doesn't want me any closer at the moment. Since he's leaning against the couch our heads are at about the same height, even though he cuts a lot more imposing of a figure than I do right now. Or always, I guess. Red Hood is kind of built on intimidation and fear.

"You showed up," I point out, with a small smile.

He gives a stiff nod — did something happen in the time between when I last saw him, or has he rethought things, or…? — and meets my gaze steadily. "Yeah, I'm here." He doesn't expand on that, and after a moment of silence I decide that he's not going to.

"Alright, then let's get comfortable and get started, hm?" I try to make my tone as friendly as possible, but it still makes him stiffen just a little bit.

His gaze drops to the carpet, he makes _no_ move to do any of what I suggested, and then his gaze flicks to either side of me and his jaw sets. "This is a bad idea," he says, with a hint of a snarl. "We're family, not _this_ , and if B finds out he'll _kill_ me." Then he's straightening up and starting to move. "I'm just going to go."

I counter him, quickly stepping forward and catching his right wrist, using it to pull him half a step towards me instead of off to the side. He resists, but I get close and wrap my other hand around the back of his neck, ignoring the feeling of his armor underneath the lower half of my hand.

"Woah, Jason, what happened?" He gives a rumbling growl, but I've heard a lot worse and I ignore it. " _You_ suggested talking about this, and you agreed to it then. What's changed?"

"Let go," he says with a sharp warning in his voice, but he's still not meeting my eyes.

My eyes narrow a little bit, and it might be kind of a mean decision, but it's the only way I can think of that I'm almost sure will make him listen. " _Jason_ ," I snap, with an equally sharp note of command to my tone, a hint of the Batman voice that I learned to use with my teammates and then Damian.

True to form, Jason jumps to attention underneath that voice, going rigid and still for a long moment. I take it as the momentary distraction that it is, and tighten my grip on the back of his neck a little bit.

" _Look_ at me," I order, and he instantaneously does. I take a second to decide on my words, holding his gaze and not letting him pull away from me. "You're going to answer my questions honestly, Jason. Is that understood?" He swallows, but shifts his head in a small nod. "Good. Now, what is it that's making you change your mind, Jason?" He tenses a bit underneath my hand, and I work my fingers into the back of his neck until it eases out a fraction. "You don't have to speak," I grant, and I can feel him relax somewhat. I study him, examining the look in his eyes and the body language I've seen since I got here. I think…

"Jason," I start quietly, "I want to talk about this. I'm interested in exploring this. Not that long ago, you were too. If you're worried about Bruce's reaction, than he never has to know. Wouldn't be the first time I've hidden something like this from him." I carefully squeeze the back of his neck again, taking in his nonvocal reaction to my words. "Even if our kinks don't match up, that won't change anything between us. It's not going to change how I look at you, no matter what you are or aren't into. And what you tell me stays between us unless you give me permission to share it, always. Do you understand that?"

He gives a small nod, and then his gaze flicks to the side, down towards the armchair to my left and against the wall, and he tenses up again. The look in his eyes is guarded wariness, mixed in with a dash of what almost looks like nervousness. _Oh_. Wait, I think I get it.

"You don't want to sit and talk, do you?" I ask, and his wrist twists beneath my hand as he stiffens. I give a slow nod, considering, and then make sure I have his attention before I speak. "We don't have to. Tell me what you need to have this conversation, Jason. Anything you need."

His eyes flick wide, surprise obvious for a fraction of a second, and then he eases out beneath my hands and sighs. His head ducks down, against my shoulder, as I work my fingers into the muscle of his neck. I can feel his breath against my collarbone, even through my shirt, as he slowly exhales and then draws the breath back in.

"Something to do with my hands," he says quietly. "I can't just sit and talk about important things, I need to be doing something that'll keep me occupied or I—" He cuts off with a snort, and then I can feel him shrug. "It's too much."

I squeeze his neck again in understanding, and consider what I know about Jason, and myself. A spar is the easiest answer, but I know that I can't concentrate on a conversation this important with a distraction that big. He needs to do something to keep his hands busy and his attention split, and I need it to be something that isn't going to take up too much of _my_ attention at the same time.

"You hungry?" I ask, and he starts a little bit.

"What?" His tone is confused, probably at my apparent topic change, and his head rises so he can look at me again.

I give him a small smile, and let go of his neck so I can step back and give him back some of his space too. "I am," I continue. "Can you cook?"

I can see the realization in his eyes, and then his mouth curls in a small smirk. "Yeah, I can cook."

"So let's cook something," I suggest. "I couldn't tell you what's in this apartment, but it's probably decently stocked. Maybe. At the least, I know I've got cans of stuff. Or frozen things."

His right eyebrow rises, and he snorts. " 'Let's'? Case in point from what you _just_ said; you can't cook for shit, Dick. Alfred won't even let you near the kitchen unless you promise not to touch anything, and Babs says you _live_ on cereal and frozen dinners unless Alfred drops off stuff you can reheat. _I'll_ cook something, you can sit down on a counter or a chair and not fuck it up."

"I can work with that," I agree, letting go of his wrist and then tilting my head towards a door near the front of my apartment, to my right. "Kitchen's through there."

He pauses for just a moment before snorting again and heading the indicated direction. I bend down to get my boots and socks off of my feet — it's my house, and I can go barefoot if I want — before following him. He's exploring my cabinets by the time I get there, and I take a seat at the small kitchen table, angling myself to watch him. From what I can tell, I think he's making a list of what kind of kitchen equipment I have, and an accompanying list of what I have in the way of actual food. I just watch for a moment, and then I lean forward onto the table and cushion my head on my arms.

"So, starting with the bigger things, what do you want our roles to be in this? Will I be a Dom, Sir, Owner, Master?" I can see him stiffen up for a second, but by the way he shudders and then lets out a slow breath, I think it's in a good way.

"I'm not really a fan of enforced titles," he answers, over his shoulder and without really looking at me. "Good in theory but not in practice; I can never get them off my tongue without disliking it. Just be a Dom, and I'll be yours."

That catches my breath in my throat for a moment — the idea of Jason being _mine_ — but I swallow it down and press forward. It doesn't help that now that his back is to me and his jacket is off, I can see my tracker still pulsing that small blue light at the back of his neck. "What about time? Twenty-four seven, just in arranged scenes, just when we're alone, or do you want to restrict it to a certain area? Not necessarily what we'll start with, but what do you want eventually?"

He glances all the way back at me this time, before crouching down to one of my lower cabinets and pulling it open. Pots and pans, from what I can see past his shoulders. "Closest to the restriction to a certain area. What I _want_ is a collar, and as long as that collar is on I'm yours. Outside of it, we're not anything more than a normal relationship." When I don't speak he looks back at me, and whatever expression is on my face catches his attention. "You alright, Dick?"

I blink, swallow, and then shove out a breath along with a, " _Fuck_." I push up, lean back in the chair and run my hands back through my hair. "Yeah," I manage, "I'm alright. Just need a minute to get past that image, hang on."

Because Jason with a _collar_ on? With _my_ collar locked around his throat? Oh _Jesus_ , that's a hot image. The things I could do with a collar, the way he'd look, the idea of feeling his skin as I lock it on… The way he'd look with a collar on and _nothing_ else, or on a leash hooked to it, or with my fingers curled through a D-ring on the front of it.

Jason gives a snort of amusement, and returns to his exploration as I try and push that image away. Just for right now. I do manage it, after that minute.

"Alright, I can… Yeah, I'm good with that, and I don't like titles during scenes either, unless it's roleplay. Do you want to know what's going to happen, or prefer it to be vague?"

"I don't want to know," his voice still sounds a bit amused, "not unless the anticipation is part of it."

I nod, even though he's not looking at me, and lower my hands down to my thighs. "Aftercare. Anything specific, or…?"

"Close physical contact, the more the better. The rest is standard. Water, warmth, comfort, etcetera." He turns to my refrigerator, opening it up and sinking down to his knees as he looks into the lit interior. I can't help focusing on that tracker on the back of his neck for another moment, then I pull my gaze up a little further to the back of his head instead.

"You said you only play with people you trust. You've played with other people?" That nugget of curiosity is back in my stomach, and he turns his head to look at me. "I don't need names or anything," I say, even though I definitely _want_ names.

He considers me for a moment, and then nods. "Yeah, I have. Roy and Kori, mostly. Before that…" He stiffens a little bit, forcibly eases out, and then shrugs, avoiding my gaze. "It was a long time ago, before you knew me." He doesn't expand on that, but I don't need him to in order for me to connect the dots. Before I knew him, Jason wasn't even a teenager. Which means whatever his introduction to this was it was done _to_ him, not because he was interested. That means…

"Oh," I breathe. It means rape, sexual abuse, or prostitution. _That's_ what it means. Even worse than that though, because none of those things are the same after you add BDSM into the mix.

Jason's eyes narrow a bit, and he growls, "I don't want your pity, Dick. He was a sick fuck, but I'm fine and he's dead so let's just leave it at that. I might be pretty fucked up at the end of the day, but I came to terms with what he did to me a long time ago. He got what he deserved, even if it wasn't at my hands." He closes the fridge, shifts to the side to open the freezer instead, and then meets my gaze again. His voice is softer this time. "Seriously, Dick, I'm alright. Yes, it makes me touchy about certain kinds of crimes, but it doesn't affect _me_ anymore. I have my triggers, but none of them are from him."

"Triggers?" I echo, still caught on that fact that someone hurt Jason like that while he was still just a _kid_.

Jason closes the freezer and stands, turning and heading over to me. I stare at him as he sinks to his knees in front of me, reaching out to grip my hands. "Dick, _listen_. It was messed up, yeah, and _I_ was messed up for a while because of it, but I worked through it on my own. Roy and Kori helped me through what little was still affecting me at that point, and I'm _fine_ now." His fingers contract on mine for a second, and he holds my gaze. "Triggers? Yeah, I've got those, but not from what he did. Not anymore. I'm never going to be grateful to the bastard, but he clued me into the fact that I like all of this, so at least some good came out of all of it."

I swallow, trying to get the idea that Jason just worked past all of it, but… "What happened?" I ask. "What did he…?" An _awful_ thought hits me, and my fingers clench down on Jason's gloved ones. "It wasn't your father, was it?"

Jason's mouth flicks up in a small smirk, and he snorts. "No. My father might have been an abusive son of a bitch, but he was straight as far as I know, and he wasn't into kids anyway. It was after he was in prison, after my Mom died, when I was on the streets." He looks down for a moment, then clears his throat, jaw clenching for the second before he speaks. "Down in Crime Alley, cops are the ultimate force if you're a kid. Even the gangs run themselves, and keep everyone more or less in line, but if you're an unaligned kid there's no protection from a cop. And you know how Gotham's cops are, especially how they were back then. As a kid, you do what they want or they make up a charge and get you sent to juvie. If you're lucky.

"If you're not, then they beat the shit out of you for saying no and leave you in the streets until the next time they come around. No one's going to step in, and no one's going to come after them for it. Just how things worked back then, might be how they still work. Most of the time, it wasn't so bad. Run a message, find out a piece of information, bring them someone or something. If you were unlucky, or better looking, some of them would demand a blowjob, or a hand. A fuck if you were good looking _and_ ran into just the wrong one. Fact of life, and usually they were alright about it. If they liked you because you were pretty, they weren't going to fuck that up. Some of them would even throw you some money or something, if you did a decent job."

It swirls in my gut the way Jason talks about it. Matter of fact, dispassionate, like it really _doesn't_ matter to him. I know better, I've seen the way he goes after rapists, and anyone who abuses kids, but it's still unnerving to hear him talk about his own past with no real emotion behind the words.

He shifts his weight back a little bit, returns the clench of my fingers for a second as he holds my attention. "I got unlucky, that's all that happened. There was a cop that was newly assigned, and I was on the wrong street at the wrong time. His partner called me over; explaining to the new guy what the rules were when it came to the kids, used me as an example. Got me in the backseat of the car and found one of the more deserted places, flipped the siren for a minute to scare anyone else off. The partner was one of the nicer ones," Jason's mouth curls in a tight smile, "used to share his cigarettes with me when he was done, always gave me something for the time. For one of the fuckers, that was a good deal."

I feel sick, for just a moment, and I can't help breathing out, " _Jason_."

"Dick," he answers, before I can say anything, "it's in the past. You can beat yourself up all you want, it won't change anything. Whatever you might think of it, it's over and done with. I don't need your pity or your sympathy, and I don't want it either. It's fucked up for you, it was life for me. You learn to deal. You going to be alright for the rest of the story?"

I manage a nod, after a moment, and then hang my head until I can ease my throat up enough to say, "Yeah, I… I can listen."

"Alright. So the new guy took an instant liking to me, liked the way I looked, and I could tell he was trouble but there wasn't really anything I could do about it. It was another two months, but eventually this other kid comes running up to me and says a cop is asking for me, by _name_. I go, of course, and it's the new guy. On his own, partner's out sick or something. Knew I shouldn't, but he told me to get in the car and it wasn't like I really had a _choice_." Jason's gaze drops, down to the floor, and I can see his jaw clench, see the hint of _anger_ in his eyes. That's better than fear, right? Or pain? "He took me to a hotel — they did that sometimes, the ones who liked _comfort_ — and into one of the rooms. Restraints weren't a big deal, some of them liked to threaten with handcuffs, and I didn't really realize how bad it was going to get until he hit me the first time.

"Just a backhand, but I remember that it split my lip. Usually that stopped them, or at least slowed them down, but not him. He brought a bag in from the car, and…" He pauses, and then squeezes my hands and shrugs. "Lots of details I'm not going to go into. Basics of it are, he beat me black and blue, pretty much from my shoulders down to my knees. On top of all the regular fucking and stuff like that. Pretty basic stuff; pain and not much else."

Of course I knew there were people in the world, sadists, that didn't bother with real consent. But knowing about it isn't the same as hearing it from Jason. My family, my brother, the man I think I really want to be able to call _mine_. I knew his past was bad, I knew the basics of it, and I might have suspected a time or two that something worse than just violence had happened to him, but I didn't think… I never suspected something like _this_.

"Tell me that's where it ends," I get out, softly. Jason's mouth curls in another tight smile, but he doesn't look up at me.

"No, just the start. He had me then, knew my name and that I didn't have any choice but to do what he wanted. There were six more times, spaced out over a bunch of months. He experimented after the first time, used toys and mixed the sensations." He gives a humorless snort. " _Really_ bad time to figure out that I liked BDSM, but that's how life goes sometimes. I hated him, but if your body likes something there's not much you can do about it. He was thrilled when he figured it out."

He's silent for a moment, and I ask, "How did it end?"

Jason's smirk is a little more real this time, a little more viciously satisfied. "Don't know if it was me or not, but he pissed the rest of the Crime Alley cops off. I was around when they cornered him, they told me to leave and I did. Far enough they couldn't see me watching, anyway. Couldn't hear, but by the time they were done with him he wasn't real recognizable. Pretty sure they dumped the body in the river, but I didn't stick around to find out. Either way, he was permanently gone. Bruce picked me up about four months after that."

He looks up again, meets my gaze, and quietly asks, "So?" I blink, confused amidst all the horror. His right shoulder lifts in a shrug, and his gaze flicks to the side for a fraction of a second as his mouth curls in a bitter smile. "I'm damaged goods, Dick. You sure you want to get into this?" My throat clenches; did Jason just say he's _damaged_ because some asshole decided to— "If you want to tell me to get out, I'll go. I know it's a lot to ask to—"

I cut him off by pulling my hands away from his, leaning down so I can cup his face, and then drawing him into a kiss. He makes a startled sound, but doesn't pull away from the nearly desperate press of my lips, and he doesn't do anything with his hands but splay them out across my thighs. I taste him, sucking on his bottom lip and then dipping my tongue into his mouth when he gives a nearly inaudible, rumbling sound that I'm almost sure is pleasure.

I pull back when I can manage it, when the need to reassure him, to hold him, to wrap him in my arms and never let him go, fades enough that I can draw back a few inches. His eyes flick open, meeting mine, and I sweep my thumbs across his cheeks, giving the best smile I can get on my face. It's small, but I don't think Jason needs grins and laughter to know I'm more or less alright.

"Jason, what someone else did to you doesn't mean _anything_ about how valuable you are. Not a damn thing." I press another soft kiss to his lips, and then one to the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure. If the rest of our kinks line up, _yes_. I'm interested, no matter what screwed up thing someone in your past did to you. I just, need a bit of time to process all that through and stop thinking about it. I'll do my best not to let it change anything, promise."

His mouth curls in a real smile, and he gives a huff of breath that sounds a bit like a laugh. "You know, Roy said nearly exactly the same thing."

I give a small hum, a noise that falls somewhere between that acknowledgement and agreement. "You know," I counter, "I've played with Roy. He looks _really_ good tied to a headboard."

Jason scoffs, then smirks. I can see him relaxing, bit by bit. "He looks really good with a flogger in his hands too." He leans a little closer, hands squeezing down on my thighs as he murmurs, "Talented fingers; they don't call him _Arsenal_ for nothing."

That image makes my breath stutter over a beat, and I have to swallow to even out again. "I'd _love_ to see him dom you," I admit, and Jason's smirk widens a little bit.

"I'd love to see you dom _him_ ," he retaliates. "You been with him since he grew out his hair?" My eyes must widen, or something, because Jason gives a laugh that sounds just a little breathless. "Yeah. Nearly down to his shoulders, and pretty once you pull off that stupid hat he's started wearing. I've watched Kori dom him; he's pretty damn _gorgeous_ with her hand in his hair, her skin nearly matches the color of it."

I lean in to kiss him again, running my hands back into his hair because the image of Roy with long hair makes me want to tug at _someone's_. I just pull a little bit, just enough to let Jason know my hands are there, but it does make him suck in a sharp breath between his teeth. I nip at his lips, careful not to cause any actual damage, before pulling back to press a trail of lingering kisses down the side of his face. I get to his jaw before I remember that this discussion isn't _finished_.

I push out a low groan, and regretfully let go of his hair as I lean back. "We have to finish the negotiation," I remind him.

He echoes my groan, but his hands slide down off of my thighs as he rocks back onto his heels. "Alright, yeah." He lets a breath go and then gets to his feet. "I'll get back to the cupboards; I think I saw enough to make a decent pasta in there. Ask away, Dick."

He still lingers for just a moment, like he doesn't really want to move away, but he does anyway. Watching him walk back to the other side of the kitchen, and then lean down to grab a pot out of one of my cupboards, is pretty hard. Maybe it's just because I haven't been with anyone for a while, but _god_ it's hard to focus around Jason. Even harder to hold back like I know I should. I _want_ to get up, back him in against the counter, and _own_ him like I know I could. Get his legs parted around my hips, his hands tied behind his back with something, and my hands on his skin. But I shouldn't.

Jason pressed that what that bastard did to him was in the past, that he's alright now, and I have to trust his word. But just because he's alright in spite of that doesn't mean he doesn't have limits or triggers from other things. Hard to restrain myself or not, I _don't play_ with people until I know their limits. Not ever. I won't risk hurting them just because I was too impatient to wait until they tell me what they're absolutely not alright with. Otherwise the chances are too high that I might push boundaries that I shouldn't.

And Jason _said_ he had triggers, which makes sense. Even if what he just told me really doesn't affect him anymore, there's still what Joker did to him, and Talia after that, plus his parents…

Yeah.

I let out a slow breath, lean back and get myself under control. This is an important conversation.


End file.
